


Post Awakening

by Librarianmum



Category: Silent Witness (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Librarianmum/pseuds/Librarianmum
Summary: How can Nikki get her life back after the events in Mexico? And can Jack ever forgive himself? Meanwhile, the ghost of Harry Cunningham still lingers...





	Post Awakening

Jack Hodgson knew who Harry Cunningham was.  Of _course_ he did.  He was the man who had “broken Nikki’s heart”.

Clarissa’s words, not Jack’s, although delivered in her usual dry manner with an arch of an eyebrow to acknowledge the cliché. 

So, Jack knew something about Harry almost right from the start – and it was a _big_ something.  Because Harry must have been a remarkable person to capture the heart of Nikki Alexander without ending up as just another brief flirtation or a stormy, short-lived relationship, best forgotten.  He might even have been “the one and only” for Nikki if things had worked out differently.  Clarissa’s words again.

When he had first met Nikki, Jack had, of course, immediately noticed how beautiful she was.  In his experience, you didn’t usually meet a cool, blonde beauty at the average crime scene – and certainly not working as the on-scene pathologist.  After an initial appreciative once-over, he’d written her off in his mind as probably married or at least romantically attached, and certainly not interested in a gangling, fight-scarred, smart-arse forensic scientist.  As the days passed, his impressions hadn’t changed much, even once he’d realised that she _was_ single.

There was something mysterious about Nikki in the early days.  Something about the way her eyes would flit towards his desk as if expecting to see something – or _someone_ – there, and then dart away just as quickly.  Something about the look of concern on Leo’s face when Jack asked about the lurid yellow scrubs he’d found in a locker one day and Nikki muttered, without lifting her head from her notes, that he could just chuck them away.

“An old head on young shoulders.”  Clarissa again, expounding on her opinion of Nikki after their initial meeting.  (Not that Jack had asked her to – he could form his own impressions, thank you very much.  But he listened all the same).  “She’s had to grow up far too soon, that one.”

Nikki was actually only a handful of years older than him, but she made Jack feel _incredibly_ young.  And gauche, and foolish, and clumsy - and he thought he’d got through all that awkwardness in his adolescence… but she was so graceful and well turned out and poised and just – _well_.  _Perfect_. 

She was also clearly passionate about her work, almost obsessively so at times, which might have explained the lack of a romantic partner.  Having initially decided that she was out of reach - or at least out of his league - Jack’s second assumption was that Nikki simply wasn’t interested in relationships.

It turned out he was wrong about that too.  There was her friendship with Leo, for a start.  And then… one day, Jack had been sorting through some old paperwork that had been left in his desk and had come across a couple of photographs.  One was of Leo clutching his award from the Palace and flanked by Nikki and a tall, dark man, all three of them grinning like banshees.  Another was just of Nikki and the man, arms around each other.  He was rolling his eyes humorously at the camera, as if in collusion with the photographer (Leo?), while Nikki looked up at him, her face caught in silent laughter.  Her lips were close to his cheek and she’d either just kissed him or was about to.  Jack was struck by the mischievous sparkle in her eyes.  They _looked_ like a couple – he protective and caring, she flirty and affectionate.

He’d shown them to Clarissa, whose eyebrows had shot even further north, and then passed them to Leo, who was just on his way out.

“Oh, yes -,” the older man had responded, taking them from Jack with a slight frown.  “I remember that day… That’s Harry Cunningham, your predecessor at that desk.  Moved to New York.  I’m surprised he didn’t -.”  He broke off and slid them into his jacket pocket.  “Um, by the way, I shouldn’t mention them to Nikki.  She’s still a little sore about the whole thing.”

Jack might have asked why, but sensed he didn’t need to.  Leo’s averted eyes and hurried manner told him all he needed to know.  And, judging by Clarissa’s significant expression as her eyes followed their boss out of the office, she had guessed Nikki’s secret too.

So, Harry Cunningham.  The ghost in the corner.  The silent presence that put that pensive expression on Nikki’s face whenever she was idle at her desk, not knowing that she was being observed.  The reason why she continued to flit from man to man, some of them more suitable than others in Jack’s opinion, but none of them _really_ good enough for her. 

As they grew closer, became friends, he realised that Nikki was much, _much_ more than an unusually pretty pathologist or a perfectly turned-out professional woman.  She was, by turns, impulsive, generous, fiercely intelligent, funny, lively, quick to anger, quick to empathy, never slow to forgive.  Her compassionate heart shone through those large brown eyes that had stared the very worst of humanity in the face, but could still look past the imperfections and find the very best.

And so, Jack realised, Harry must be a remarkable man to have captured Nikki’s love.  _And also bloody lucky_ , he added wryly.  He was under no illusions – he might pass the odd flirtatious comment and she might laugh and respond in kind, but he was no replacement for Harry Cunningham.

They never talked about Harry.  That was odd, really – after so many years working together and on some quite dramatic cases (Clarissa had looked up Harry’s employment records and summarised for Jack, who wasn’t really listening, of course), you’d have thought that his name would have come up constantly in fond reminiscences between the two pathologists - “ _remember when Harry did that, and I said this, and it turned out that_ …”.  But no.  It was as if he had never existed.

And then, Leo had been killed in the most awful of circumstances.

Jack had fully expected Harry to turn up for the funeral.  He must have heard about his colleague’s death – it was in all the national newspapers.  He presumed Nikki had invited him along with Leo’s old colleagues and friends.  Sam Ryan had sent a sympathy card and a letter of regret – she was having radiotherapy for stage 1 breast cancer and couldn’t travel, but would come over to meet Nikki and visit Leo’s grave as soon as she had recovered.  However, there was no card from Harry – none that Jack or Clarissa ever saw, anyway – and he didn’t make an appearance on the day.

Two days after the funeral, Nikki had returned to work, and Jack had watched her standing silently by Leo’s desk, resting her hand lightly on the polished wood.  His heart ached for her as he remembered Clarissa’s words “an old head on young shoulders”.

As the years passed, Harry’s ghost seemed to fade almost to nothing.  But, for Jack, it still lingered as a faint suggestion, as each promising romance faded away and Nikki remained resolutely single.  There was still the possibility that Harry would suddenly come to his senses, return to the Lyell and sweep Nikki into his arms.

Jack had often wondered what would happen if he phoned the man.  Professor Cunningham would easy enough to track down; he’d made his mark in research publications since leaving the Lyell and was well-known in pathology circles. 

What would Jack say to him?  What would he even _ask_?  Why Harry hadn’t turned up at an old friend’s funeral?  Why he hadn’t been there to offer much-needed comfort to Nikki, who’d had to rely instead on the awkward kindness of Jack and Clarissa?  Why he had continued to stay away over the years, never phoning or texting or promising to drop in for a friendly catch-up the next time he was in the country?  All those things that old colleagues say and do… old _friends_ , or whatever it was that Harry and Nikki were to each other.

What could possibly make him come back, if Leo’s death hadn’t been enough?  He must have _known_ how much Nikki had suffered - how could he _bear_ not to be there by her side?  Jack couldn’t even consider that this Harry Cunningham was as stone-hearted as he seemed – Nikki would _never_ have fallen in love with someone like that.  The Nikki he knew was far too intelligent, too sensitive, too _perfect_ to ever make the mistake of falling so completely for someone who wasn’t remotely worthy of her.

Would Harry have come back if he had known that she had been buried in a coffin for hours, in a state of absolute terror, fully expecting to die at any moment? 

In the hospital that they rushed her to, as Jack had held her bruised hand as gently as he could while she was assessed and treated for dehydration and shock, he had never felt more tempted to pick up his phone, ring that number in New York, and fling angry accusations at a man he had never met. 

_She shouldn’t even be here_ , he’d raged at Harry in his own head.  _If you’d done the decent thing, you’d probably be married now with kids, and she’d be living a normal life.  Not getting drugged and having to kill scorpions and dig herself out of a tomb, because I was too slow to get there in time and too damn stupid to realise what she was up to…Knowing Nikki, I should have guessed…_ You _would have…_

Even after they had flown back to the UK, he found that his rage towards this invisible Harry always came full circle, back to himself, for not being fast enough or clever enough or cunning enough… _For not being Harry Cunningham_ – the man who could make Nikki laugh while goofing around in a photo; the man who could put the sparkle back in her eyes with just a smile or a joke.

Because, the one thing he knew _now_ … was that he _desperately_ wanted to be that man. 

 

 


End file.
